Rook and Roll was only a ten-minute walk from White's flat. It was located in a community center that hosted many clubs and events throughout the week for people to participate in. Luckily, the club in question was meeting on that Saturday. Lestrade had stayed at the crime scene to finish up with forensics while Sherlock and John went to the community center. John didn't know what Sherlock's plan was, but as ever, he faithfully followed behind the detective.

Sherlock strode into the community center and walked up to the main desk.

"Erm, excuse me, my friend and I would like to play a game of chess. Are there any tables available?"

John played along but wanted to roll his eyes. Sherlock was acting so polite and innocent. He put on this show whenever he was trying to get information from witnesses or when he was trying to get his way.

The woman behind the desk was young, probably a college student. She had dark skin and hair, and was wearing a faded employee t-shirt and jeans. She was awfully short, maybe only 5 feet tall, John thought. She spoke in a high-pitched voice, but did not even look up from her computer to respond.

"Are you a member?" she asked.

"Oh, erm, sorry, no. Can we sign up?" asked Sherlock, flashing a smile in the girl's direction to try to catch her attention.

She glanced up from her computer momentarily and then quickly returned her eyes to the computer screen. John could catch a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

"There's a member fee and I'll need some identification." She said emotionlessly.

Sherlock and John complied with the woman behind the counter and she gave them a brief tour of the facility before leading them to a chess table. After she left, Sherlock's façade broke and he gazed around the room, analyzing and taking in as much as he could about the few people that were there playing as well. It was quiet, only minimal conversation being held by some, while others sat in silence contemplating moves and strategies. Sherlock pretended to move a piece on the board so as not to draw attention to himself.

After sitting for nearly ten minutes in silence, Sherlock stood up and walked over to two men sitting at a table near the window in the corner. John followed him.

"Hi. My name is Sherlock." He had put up that false identity again. "Sorry to interrupt, but I heard you mention Colin White… I can hardly believe the news." He said in a mock-sad voice. John didn't understand how the rest of the world fell for his fake identities.

"News?" exclaimed the older of the two men. He was a heavier man with graying black hair. He wore thick glasses and wore navy trousers with a burgundy jumper.

"Yes. Didn't you hear? Colin was found this morning in his flat… dead…" Sherlock made a show of letting his eyes water momentarily and trying to blink the tears away.

"My God!" exclaimed the other man. This man was probably in his late thirties, maybe ten years younger the man sitting across from him. He too wore glasses, but he was much leaner than his counterpart.

"Sorry… who did you say you were?" asked the older man.

"Sherlock. I'm an old friend of Colin's. We grew up together. What about you?"

"Well," said the younger man, "I cannot believe this. I just saw Colin yesterday. We had lunch together at his flat. I'm Brian, by the way. Brian Campbell." He stood and shook Sherlock's hand. "We often played chess together. He was a formidable opponent, that's for sure. I always thought he took the game a little too seriously, though, but it made it challenging to play with him." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"This is my coworker, George. George didn't know Colin very well. Only met him the once at the tournament, right George?" continued Brian.

"Yes. He was quick, that one. I remember him. He won the whole tournament." George stayed in his seat as the conversation continued.

"God, I can't believe he died. Was it a heart attack? Oh no… no, no, wait. It wasn't… He didn't do it to himself… did he?" he put his hand over his mouth.

"No, actually. I heard someone killed him." Sherlock replied.

"What?!" Brian was becoming visibly upset. "H-How could… why would anyone want to hurt Colin? Why? He was the most kind-hearted, gentle man who ever lived!" He sat back down, unbelieving in his chair. John still stood a few feet away from it all, listening and absorbing as much information as he could.

"I don't know." Responded Sherlock. "Someone must've gone there after you did."

"Oh my God. Oh my God…." Brian just shook his head and mumbled to himself.

"What is it?" Sherlock was clearly becoming a bit impatient and for a moment, his innocent tone had turned a bit more direct.

"It's just that… when I had finished eating lunch with Colin yesterday, he said that he'd invited Tom Wilton over to play a game of chess with him. Tom is just learning how to play and Colin had agreed to tutor him. Tom always did have a temper on him but… oh God… I need to call the police." Brian stood up and walked away pulling out his phone.

Sherlock pulled on his gloves and looked down at George. "Have a good day."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the community center.

"So that's our man, then? Tom Wilton?" John asked, following behind Sherlock's quick pace.

"No. There has to be someone else. But, Mr. Wilton might be our key to figuring out who killed Colin." Replied Sherlock as he briskly walked down the sidewalk.

"How do you know it wasn't Tom? If he was the last one to visit Colin last night, doesn't it make sense that he would've been the one to commit the crime?"

"No. The motive's wrong. I told you, this wasn't about a chess game. Now, let's figure out where Mr. Wilton is today." He reached out his hand and hailed a cab.

In the cab, Sherlock was busy texting someone on his phone. He had told the driver to go to NSY initially, but changed the address to a coffee shop in central London about a quarter of the way through the trip.

"So it isn't Tom? But even Camp-" started John as they sat at a traffic light.

"No. Please no talking. I need to think." Sherlock rumbled, emphasizing the 'k' in "think".

John didn't respond, just looked out the window at what was becoming a dreary day in London. Dark, overhanging clouds were forming and for a moment, John wished he'd brought an umbrella or a warmer jacket. He thought about the case and the scene of the crime. He couldn't understand why Sherlock thought Tom Wilton wasn't a suspect. Of course, he wasn't the consulting detective. And what's more, he believed Sherlock. He always did. He knew he was right and would probably follow him to the ends of the Earth just so Sherlock could prove it. Maybe that's not quite healthy… or normal, John momentarily considered.

Before he knew it, the cab had pulled up to the coffee shop named "Grounds" and Sherlock was halfway out the door. John quickly paid the cabbie and tried to catch up with Sherlock.

Sherlock had walked into the coffee shop, skipped the line, and addressed the cashier.

"I need to speak with Tom Wilton."

The young man behind the counter looked puzzled.

"Umm, I'm sorry sir, but you can't just-"

"It's a matter of police business." Sherlock flashed one of his fake police badges he'd stolen from Lestrade. "I suggest you point out Mr. Wilton to us or I'm afraid I'll be forced to arrest you for aiding a criminal. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

The frightened cashier visibly paled and frantically shook his head as he turned around and headed into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with a fit young man would was drying a coffee mug with a rag.

John stood a few steps back from Sherlock. He had no idea what he was planning to do, but John didn't really like how aggressive the whole encounter was starting.

The man who was presumably Tom Wilton was around 22 years of age. He was just finishing up at university and was working as a dishwasher for "Grounds" to earn some extra money. He was short and stocky, with long brown hair that was tied in a bun and hidden under a hat. He had an impressive, full beard as well that had hints of red in it. He wore big, silver glasses, too. He looked like an American 'hipster' to John.

"What the hell is this all about, then?" asked Tom, still drying the mug he was holding.

Sherlock dove right in to an interrogation in front of the whole shop. John interrupted him and suggested they go somewhere more private.

"Erm, perhaps it would be better if we moved to that table over there?" he said, pointing to a secluded table in the corner.

Sherlock sighed but walked over, with John and Tom following behind.

They all sat and Sherlock continued, full deductive glare focused on Mr. Wilton, who was sitting directly across from him.

"As you may or may not be aware, a man was found stabbed in the back in his own flat last evening. His name was Colin White and he was an avid chess player. According to our investigations so far, you were the last one to see him yesterday, so you are now the prime suspect in a murder investigation. I suggest that you answer all of my questions thoroughly and honestly if you want to stand a chance at getting out of this."

Tom looked dumbstruck.

"Wait… Preston said that you were the police… if I'm the prime suspect, why haven't you arrested me yet? Why are you trying to get me out of it?" Tom asked.

"Not the police. I'm Sherlock Holmes. I'm a consulting detective. I know you didn't kill Colin White. But, I need to know if there was anyone that visited him yesterday evening after you left his flat. So tell me, when did you arrive? What time did you leave?"

Sherlock's sentences were being rapidly fired off and John could hardly keep up with his questions. Tom stayed with him, though, and answered.

"I got there around 2 in the afternoon. Colin and I played a game of chess. He's teaching me to play, you know… I really look up to him. He's a great mentor and teacher and he's so damned smart. Well… was. Anyway, I left around 4:30. He didn't say that anyone was coming to visit him that evening…. I can't believe someone would kill him…"

John interjected, "So, you don't know of anyone in Colin's life that would want to harm him in any way?"

"Well, you have to understand, Colin is a real private guy. Doesn't talk much about his personal life. He had just told me yesterday that he had a girlfriend. Janet, I think, is her name. Didn't say much, just that she was away for a few days and would be getting back today. He didn't really talk much about his family."

The interview was not garnering enough information for Sherlock. He quickly realized that Tom was a dead end. So, he wrapped things up quickly with him and decided to take a cab to Colin's workplace.

John was getting antsy. He couldn't understand Sherlock's line of thinking and he was getting sick of being left in the dark. He also didn't want to admit to Sherlock that he was confused. How could Tom not be the killer? There was no evidence yet of anyone else going to Colin's apartment. Sherlock texted Lestrade and told him to meet them at the Colin's office.

They arrived at Colin's workplace, an accounting office in the center of town. Sherlock didn't put up any disguises this time. Instead, he waited for Lestrade and they all went in together.

Fortunately, they didn't have any trouble with the secretaries; everyone was cooperative. They were shown to Colin's office in a small room with a large, dark, wooden desk. He had been using a chess figure as a paperweight. Overall, his desk was quite organized. It seemed the man liked things to be in order. It made it easy to locate his business calendar. Sherlock had handed it to John to sift through, but John looked at the date Colin had been murdered and only the two appointments that they already knew about were present.

He was about to say as much, but Sherlock pressed a button on Colin's phone and a low, female voice filtered into the room through the speakerphone.

"Hi Colin, it's me. I'm just calling to check in and see how you're doing? I miss you. Can't wait to see you in a few days! I'll be home before you know it. I love you, bye."

There was a long beep and the machine said, "Next message."

"Girlfriend?" asked Lestrade before the next message started. Sherlock gave a quick nod as the second message started.

"This message is for Colin White. Congratulations, you have won an all-expense paid vaca-"

Sherlock deleted the automated message. He scowled and once again the machine beeped and said, "Next message."

This time, a man who seemed out of breath spoke.

"Colin! Long time no see, buddy." The tone of voice seemed ironic. They definitely HAD seen each other recently. "Hey, I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry. I know we got off on the wrong foot the other day. I want to make it up to you. Would it be all right if I stopped by sometime? Let me know."

"That's it. That's our man." Said Sherlock. And with a flourish of his coat, he quickly marched out of the room.